Chapter Text
The cafeteria at Hawkins High was loud in the way it always was after the first few weeks of school. The novelty of being back had worn off, which meant people were comfortable again—comfortable enough to yell across tables, drag chairs loudly across the floor, and complain about homework like it was a competitive sport.
At one table near the windows, Mike Wheeler sat slouched in his chair with a carton of chocolate milk in one hand and a fork hovering over a pile of fries he wasn’t really eating.
Across from him, Lucas Sinclair was mid-rant.
“I’m telling you,” Lucas said, stabbing his fork dramatically into a piece of pizza, “Mrs. Thompson cannot give us a quiz when we literally just learned the material yesterday.”
Mike snorted. “She can and she did.”
Next to Mike, Dustin Henderson was digging through his backpack with the focus of someone searching for buried treasure.
“Has anyone seen my calculator?” Dustin asked, voice muffled because his head was halfway inside the bag.
Lucas rolled his eyes. “You asked that in chemistry. And algebra. And English.”
“And the answer was no every time,” Mike added.
Dustin finally resurfaced, holding up the calculator triumphantly.
“Never mind! Found it.”
“Where was it?” Lucas asked.
Dustin glanced down.
“…In my lunchbox.”
Mike shook his head, laughing under his breath.
Typical Dustin.
Lucas leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head before glancing at Mike.
“Anyway,” he continued, “about practice today.”
Mike groaned immediately.
“Don’t even remind me.”
Dustin raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Lucas pointed his fork at Mike like he was about to reveal a terrible secret.
“Figure skating starts today.”
Mike’s expression darkened instantly.
“Ugh,” he muttered, dragging the word out dramatically.
Dustin blinked. “Why do you care?”
Mike sat up a little, clearly offended.
“Because,” he said, “it means we have to get off the ice thirty minutes early.”
Lucas nodded in agreement.
“Zamboni’s gotta go through before they start.”
Dustin looked between them.
“…So?”
Mike stared at him.
“So that’s half an hour less practice.”
“Twenty-five minutes,” Lucas corrected.
Mike pointed at him.
“Exactly.”
Dustin shrugged.
“You guys are dramatic.”
Lucas scoffed. “You say that because you don’t wake up at five in the morning for hockey practice.”
Mike leaned back again, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Every year,” he muttered. “Every single year.”
Dustin grinned.
“You’re just jealous they get sparkly outfits.”
Mike gave him a look.
“Do I look like someone who wants a sparkly outfit?”
Dustin tilted his head thoughtfully.
“…Maybe.”
Lucas laughed.
Mike shoved Dustin’s shoulder lightly.
“Shut up.”
Lucas checked the time on his phone.
“Practice starts at four,” he said. “Which means we’re kicked off the ice at like… five-thirty.”
Mike groaned again.
“Pain.”
Dustin raised his eyebrows.
“You know you could always just stay and watch the figure skating.”
Mike immediately shook his head.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
Mike shrugged.
“Just not my thing.”
He grabbed another fry and tossed it into his mouth.
Lucas leaned forward slightly.
“Actually,” he said casually, “there’s this guy who practices there sometimes during figure skating.”
Mike raised an eyebrow.
“Oh yeah?”
Lucas nodded.
“Yeah. He’s in our grade. His name is Will, I have science with him.”
Dustin perked up.
“Is he good?”
Lucas shrugged.
“Pretty sure he’s like really good.”
Mike didn’t seem particularly interested.
“Cool,” he said flatly.
Lucas smirked.
“He does those spin things.”
“Everyone does spin things,” Mike replied.
“No, like… the crazy ones.”
Mike shrugged again.
“Still not worth losing thirty minutes of ice time.”
Dustin leaned forward with a grin.
“You’re such a hockey bro.”
Mike pointed at him with a fry.
“I literally am a hockey player.”
Lucas laughed again.
“Fair point.”
Mike leaned back and glanced around the cafeteria absentmindedly.
His gaze drifted across the room without much thought—until it landed briefly on a table near the far wall.
Three people sat there.
A redhead, a girl with dark curls, and—
A skinny boy with messy brown hair and a sketchbook open in front of him.
Mike didn’t know his name.
But he’d definitely seen him before.
The kid was drawing something while talking to the girls, occasionally pushing his hair out of his eyes with the side of his hand.
Mike looked away a second later.
He didn’t really think about it.
Across the cafeteria, the atmosphere at Will Byers’ table was much calmer.
Will had his sketchbook spread open between himself and El Hopper, a pencil moving quickly across the page.
El leaned in close, watching with intense concentration.
Next to them, Max Mayfield rested her chin on her hand, observing the lesson like it was a documentary.
“Okay,” Will said gently, shading part of the drawing. “See this part?”
El nodded.
“You don’t press the pencil harder,” Will continued. “You just layer the shading slowly.”
He demonstrated by lightly brushing the pencil across the paper several times.
The shadow deepened gradually.
El’s eyes widened.
“Oh.”
She picked up her own pencil and tried copying the motion.
Her first attempt was… not great.
The shading was uneven and way too dark.
El frowned.
Will smiled softly.
“Hey, that’s good.”
El gave him a skeptical look.
“No it isn’t.”
Max snorted.
“Yeah, Will. Don’t lie to her.”
Will nudged Max’s arm.
“Rude.”
He turned back to El.
“It just takes practice,” he said. “Try holding the pencil like this.”
He gently adjusted her grip.
El tried again.
This time the shading came out smoother.
Her face lit up slightly.
“Oh!”
Will grinned.
“See?”
Max leaned over the table to look at the drawing.
“That’s actually really good.”
El sat up a little straighter.
She’d spent most of the past year buried in schoolwork.
Classes. Homework. Studying.
Will had started noticing it a few months ago.
So recently he’d been helping her try new hobbies.
Drawing was the latest experiment.
Max tapped her fingers on the table.
“So,” she said casually, “don’t you have figure skating starting soon?”
Will blinked.
Then he groaned.
“Oh my god, you’re right.”
Max smirked.
“You forgot, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t forget,” Will said defensively.
“You totally forgot.”
Will sighed dramatically and flipped his sketchbook closed.
“It’s today after school.”
Max pointed at him.
“Exactly.”
Will looked at her.
“Which means,” he said slowly, “you need to pick me up after.”
Max pretended to think about it.
“…Hmm.”
Will narrowed his eyes.
“Max.”
She grinned.
“I guess I could.”
El tilted her head.
“Why does Max pick you up?”
Will shrugged.
“My mom works late on Mondays.”
“And Jonathan has college classes,” Max added.
El nodded.
“That makes sense.”
Will glanced down at the time.
“Practice starts at six,” he said.
Max raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t you have to warm up?”
Will shrugged.
“I’ll get there early.”
Max leaned back in her chair.
“You excited?”
Will hesitated.
Then he nodded.
“Yeah.”
He hadn’t skated much over the summer.
School starting again meant practice was officially back.
And skating always helped clear his head.
Max tilted her head slightly.
“You’re competing again this year, right?”
Will shrugged awkwardly.
“Probably.”
El looked impressed.
“You are very good.”
Will rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’m okay.”
Max rolled her eyes.
“Okay, sure. Regional finalist is just ‘okay.’”
Will groaned.
“Max.”
She laughed.
Across the cafeteria, Mike stood up from his table, grabbing his tray.
“See you after school,” Lucas said.
“Yeah,” Mike replied.
Dustin raised a fry in salute.
“Don’t cry too much when they kick you off the ice.”
Mike rolled his eyes.
“Shut up.”
As he walked toward the trash cans, he passed by several tables—including Will’s.
Will was laughing at something Max said.
Mike glanced over without really meaning to.
Just for a second.
Will looked up at the same moment.
Their eyes met briefly.
Neither of them reacted.
Just two strangers from the same school.
Then Mike kept walking.
And Will went back to talking to his friends.
Neither of them knew that later that afternoon—
They’d end up on the same ice.